Ice caps of the northern world
Dew drops of the sovereign world
From North to South shall bear in pair
Holding a cistern in open air
Air ruffles in belts and swear
Fair and in pair that never wear
Storks and beasts circling around
Forks and yeasts bubbling in sound
Meat that thaws in empty shells
Peat that gnaws in cognoscenti wells
Wells of minds that hail on waters
Bells in binds that wail on lathers
Days of light that never end
Rays of night that never bend...
ANON
Come on now, you know who you are
A good online poet with verses a-plenty
Wowing everyone, even the cognoscenti
With rhyme, metaphor and fine imagery
Many admirers, as we think you’re a star
It is clear, as a poet, you are committed
All those works that you decide to enter
And never bland nor beige, like polenta
However you may choose to spell centre
Reflected in the poetry you’ve submitted
Your word pictures take us all to the brink
With your syllable counts you raise the bar
Each single contest entry is inspiring so far
No naming names, we know who you are
Perhaps an insight into the way you think
ECCENTRICITY
tireless
assiduous
an ostentatious
display
modelled
&designed
unveiled
in a
motif
to bring
a smile
& appear
a unique idea
a an affiliation
a
a fracture
so
beguiling
momentarily
transported
themes of
the elementary
yet classic
style
traditional
conventional
drawing
inspiration
& ideas
coming
a realisation
distinctive
& vivid
colourful
philosophy
& imagery
of phenomena
in
concept in
&
conceivable
profile
beyond
the world
of the cognoscenti
The brain-washed also washed.
‘Settled science’ led him forward confidently
into a simulated life.
It was while listening to the talking heads,
pundits, and cognoscenti
that he was struck by a miniscule,
yet consequential doubt.
Dismayed, he sensed
the props of his borrowed knowledge
begin to shred and peel away.
Eventually, his entire belief system
faltered,
friends hearing of this heresy
deserted him.
He wandered into a forest
where every tree was different
in its own peculiar way,
Both order and chaos
seemed to be
but one cohesive happening.
Legend has it
he deliberately lost his way
in order to find out
what had been overlooked by so many.
He is still looking.
Master Poet - This has been how I have been addressing,
Harry Horsman - who has been, to the verse world, a blessing;
Depth, decorum, delightfulness, and dovish dynamism,
Shines and reflects on his personality like a prism...!
‘A Voice In The Wilderness’, ‘Phobia’, ‘The Old Oak Tree’,
‘Rainbow Ride’, ‘Eyes’, ‘Scars Left Behind’, and ‘You May Not Agree’...
Horsman's works have, images and imageries in plenty,
Figures of speech of all kinds, in him, are cognoscenti...!
In 'An Agendaless Age', or 'In So Many Ways’,
His genuineness, like the summer sun, does always blaze;
In 'Jesus Christ' he sings delightfully of the savior,
In his love for the poor, 'The Gravedigger' finds favor...!
'Death Is Not The End’ - he said, I do not think death has won,
In snatching him off from this world, no great work he has done;
Horsman dwells in the blissful presence of angels and saints,
Physically and psychically, he’s free of constraints...!!!
27 May 2023
Tributes to Harry Horsman: An Uncontest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Mein Kampf...Self Imprisoned Gulag
Onset of conception wrought significant
destructive quantum sized genetic quark
invisible, fissile, and congenital skull,
sans crossbones deathmark
scythe kill logical metastatic
psychic path head shrinking Reichsmark
financial reparation taxed this human bark
at peril of ark
covenant fomenting incruent
lacerating psychological ordeal
triggering mythological hound fierce bark
king Cerberus from Hades
bajillion times more
ferocious than a shark
oppressive teeth gnashing
jawbreaking, human prey stark
dead meat, bleak fin de siecle lifespan
razor sharp teeth trademark
death sentence worse
than totalitarian regime,
emasculating, defeating, crushing any spark
to muster livingsocial jackknifing
sole ambition waiting, Clark
Kent (alias superman) powerless,
thus letting me die non staining watermark
as permanent solution
freeing relentless gravestone mark
piercing, sundering, and vitiating
against nemesis, sans panic attacks
exacerbated by infiltrated FARC
militia firearms at the ready,
where soul will peacefully park
amidst cognoscenti immune to snark!
Charles Aznavour and I
Once in Southgate, I bumped into him
I apologised, so did he, and we continued on our way.
Further down the street, I said to myself
you touched a famous man, thought of running after
him telling I knew who he was, but since he knew
this already, he would think I was deluded.
I later saw a picture of him on the door of a restaurant
Where he had a “gig”; one is modern.
The ticket price was high, and I didn`t care too much
of his singing, his public was for the cognoscenti
who had once been in Paris.
Me, I like Edith Piaf we lived in similar streets.
How to take a leak
Marcel felt quite an urge when he set out to purge understanding of how to when
we view misconceptions of who is taking the piss now never thereafter and then
A fountain trickling urinal porcelain pissoir on display impressed me no doubt in
treacherous confusion of images since relief in museums constitutes phallic sin
When streams of revisionist consciousness meet with surreal ‘truth’ of ablutions
seeming paradoxes cleanse body and mind in contextual and continent solutions
A fragmented human condition does not improve with rigid caged in perceptions
in which mindless dogma clearly resists benefits of antiauthoritarian disinfection
Are glass ceilings real are vessels of thought and flush toilets congested or empty
do ivory towers reveal liberation and freedom achieve status of fully cognoscenti
Nothing what it seems is Duchamp's message in a showcase of lavatorial pride
colonising minds need disclosure critique confrontation urinating against the tide
When cognition feeling and action with knowledge have reached full critical vision
I reach for a fountain pen so whether this is a poem or not remains your decision
16th May 2017
Robert Browning and Me (1)
Imagine me in nineteen ninety-two,
in need of something to ignite the flame:
the London Independent – a review!
The painter Gentileschi – striking name!
(American professor’s brand-new book,
describing how the Roman girl was raped,
and how this trauma subsequently shaped
her art) – I didn’t need a second look!
Now, Robert Browning. Never was a man
more like myself (though, naturally, I’m
not fit to shine his shoes). Rodin? Cezanne?
They don’t come close. More sweetly than our rhyme,
his spoke, in smiles, of clods and cognoscenti:
he taunted human frailty lovingly,
embracing our shortcomings. Italy!
We both adored the art, the grace, the “gente”.
What Browning did (so may we all rejoice!)
is take a person (Lippo Lippi, Pippa)
and let him tell it in his own sweet voice,
as if upon the stage – what could be snipper?
The beauty of Dramatic Monologues
(for thus he named them) is, the subject speaks
to put the best face on it, but out leaks,
despite his caution, stuff that’s fit for dogs.
Can I be me today,
And forever after,
Without the judgement
Of the consensus or the cognoscenti?
Can I eat when I am hungry,
And perhaps when I am not,
Without the suffering
Of the starving and the needy?
Can I weave my web,
And wonder at yours,
Without the hurt
Of the biting and the venomous?
I can, but when I may,
This place you call Earth, I will call home.
© 2016 Margo Cami [www.margocami.com]
.
Cast full beyond the precipice of hope
the cognoscenti raise their trembling hands;
scarce breathing ‘neath the weight of certainty
of Liberty’s perceptible demise.
.
What convoluted pathway have we forged
as now, blind eyes peer out from severed heads;
wedged deep within the seats of learned men
perceiving nought but their accursed spoil?
.
The mirror, crack’d, reveals the truth at last -
as fractured folly stares in disbelief;
“‘Tis Sophie’s choice” speaks wisdom as she yields,
“your bed is made, but you will see not rest.”
.
Cast full beyond the precipice of hope
the cognoscenti raise their trembling hands;
scarce breathing ‘neath the weight of certainty
of Liberty’s perceptible demise.
What convoluted pathway have we forged
as now blind eyes peer out from severed heads;
wedged deep within the seat of learned men
perceiving nought but their accursed spoil?
The mirror, crack’d, reveals the truth at last -
as fractured folly stares in disbelief;
“‘Tis Sophie’s choice” speaks wisdom as she yields,
“your bed is made, but you will see not rest.”
disappeared with the moment,
Regrets, Echoes, Confusion, Lust,
all sandwiched on white leaves with blue veins
coated with brownish crust.
i have my name on it,
lost, i cannot stand,
dizzy, hoping it escapes a cognoscenti hand.
The rythms, The rhymes, The stanzas, The lines
I cannot save money to buy,
'cos they came like from the sky.
sighs and tears soaked by the time.
I'm a forfeit mind...
but I wrote those lines...
blue, black, green and red,
on white pages spread. Awakening, I buried the 'i'
now awaiting the fumes of the sediment to bring I back to life.
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